


Burn My Heart To Ashes

by StarlingJedi



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Canonical Character Death, Episode: s05e10 The Day the World Went Away, F/F, Fix-It of Sorts, Grief/Mourning, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 07:38:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7092541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlingJedi/pseuds/StarlingJedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>It’s a strange sensation, having these emotions turned up to where she can actually feel them, acutely and unmistakably.</em><br/> <br/>Coda to 5x10 "The Day The World Went Away".  Rated for language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn My Heart To Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> The market already seems to be flooded with post-5x10 fics, and I post this with the greatest respect to all the excellent fic that came before. This one is unbeta'ed, possibly OOC, and probably has a few general continuity errors in it. I'm still reeling over Root's death (I've lost count of how many times I've rewatched, I still cry at the end, and apparently I'm a glutton for punishment), and this is how I deal. I see I'm not alone; we'll all grieve her together.

She knows as soon as Reese answers the phone.

Somehow, she knew even before he answered. She doesn't believe in the psychic lover/soulmate bond crap, but somehow she knew deep in her soul what the end game would be. Maybe it was something in all the Schrodinger shapes-in-the-universe talk, besides a ridiculously long set up for a bad pick-up line; maybe Root knew what was coming for her. Or maybe she herself knew all along how this would go down; happy endings don't happen for people like her.

So there's no need for words, only sadness in his eyes and a small shake of his head to confirm what she somehow already knows.

Root is gone.

Root is _dead_.

If there had been any doubt remaining in her mind that this was reality, it's gone now. Never, in all of the 7,000-plus simulations that Samaritan put her through, had she ever gotten to this point, with Root dead and her still standing. She always put the gun to her head and pulled the trigger before that happened, and she would do it again – gladly, without hesitation – if it meant that Root would still be alive. She would kill Reese again another 7,000 times, Finch another 5,000, if it meant Root would survive.

But none of that will change things. This is real; this actually happened. She's still alive, and Root is dead.

She doesn't know what to say, so she shifts gears entirely. "We need to get to Finch."

"I got a feeling," Reese says, "Finch isn't here anymore."

Of course he isn't; somehow, she already knew that too. The place is in a panic over six hundred missing inmates who disappeared when the power just _magically_ went out, and the cell doors just _magically_ opened. The Machine has created the perfect escape for Finch, allowing him to disappear in the chaos.

"Samaritan didn't want him dead," Reese continues. "At least not if they could capture him."

"Then why did his Number come up?" she asks flatly. She's not sure she wants to hear the answer. If Finch's life was never in danger...

Then what the hell did Root die for?

 

* * *

 

They're on the road, driving to some destination that she doesn't know and doesn't care to know. Reese is saying something about Finch – God mode, off the chain and hell breaking loose – but nothing truly registers there either. Nothing has registered since the details that Reese finally shared, passed down from Fusco. One gunshot wound in her side, a graze... a second shot to the stomach... massive blood loss and damage to major arteries that proved irreversible, despite the doctors' best efforts.

Now, the only thing registering is just the same thought, repeating itself over and over: _Root is gone, Root is dead._

Only a thought. Just like with Cole, just like with her father, there's nothing else.

No, not entirely true. There's _something_ else, some vague uneasiness in the pit of her stomach that she can't quite identify. It reminds her of seeing a shadow in her peripheral vision, only to turn her head and find nothing there. She can't pinpoint it directly, but somehow she's subconsciously aware of it.

She remembers Genrika Zhirova, with a wisdom beyond her ten young years, telling her that the emotions _were_ there, just turned down so low that she couldn't sense them. She remembers acknowledging what Gen said, but just like those turned-down feelings, it didn't fully register at the time.

It does now.

She always knew she was different, even before the car accident that claimed her father's life and revealed to the world just _how_ different she was. In medical school, she diagnosed herself with the Axis-II personality disorder that finally explained why nothing ever fazed her, why she never felt happy or sad or afraid, or much of anything at all. When she found herself first in the Marines, then later working with the ISA, it was really more of a benefit than a loss. Everyone else had to compartmentalize, to shut off that inner self, in order to function well enough to do what was required of them. But she never had to turn anything off; it gave her an advantage over everyone else.

Besides, it was hard to miss what you never had to start with.

But right now, she _does_ miss it. She would give _anything_ in the world to feel that loss and grief turned up to the max because Root meant _everything_ in the world to her. And right now, there _is_ emotion she can feel: hate and anger, directed at herself. Root loved her, was willing to do anything for her – was even willing to kill herself for her if it meant keeping her tethered to reality – and she sure as fucking _hell_ deserves to be mourned better than apathy and a vague sense of something missing.

"Shaw?"

She turns to Reese and he actually flinches back a bit. She steals a glance at herself in the sideview mirror and sees herself as he just saw her: nostrils flared and eyes wild, a barely restrained fury waiting to break loose. No wonder it startled him; it would probably startle her too if she felt that kind of thing.

"Are you okay?" he asks cautiously.

She laughs, once, humorlessly. "What the fuck do you _think_ , Reese?" she demands, turning a fiery glare toward him.

Something indecipherable flickers across his face, too fast for her to categorize – not that it would matter because other people's emotions are just as foreign to her as her own – and he pulls the car over to the side of the road. She looks out the window at the dark shadows beyond and says nothing.

"Shaw," he begins, reaching her hand.

She yanks herself free of his grasp. "Spare me the hand-holding bullshit, John. You know I'm not built like that."

He sighs; from the reflection in the window, she can see him staring out at the road ahead. For a long time, the only sound is the occasional vehicle passing by.

Reese, expectedly, is the one to finally break the silence. "I'm not completely oblivious, Shaw; I know she meant a lot to you—"

"Don't," she interrupts him, "just... don't."

"Shaw—"

"I know what you're going to say," she says, turning to face him. "'You loved her, and she loved you back', 'I'm going to miss her too', blah, blah, fucking _blah_." She sees something akin to hurt cross his features, which she ignores. She's too riled up, too angry at herself – and him too now for his unspoken words of sympathy that she doesn't want to hear because they won't bring Root back from the dead.

"And then," she continues, "you're going to remind me that Finch is out there, and he may be about to do something drastic that we have to stop, and there'll be time to grieve once we've found him and ended the AI apocalypse. I _know_ that. I don't need you to say it for me."

He opens his mouth to speak, but she cuts him off again. "But I'll tell _you_ something; if we find Finch and he actually _has_ gone over to the dark side... so help me, I will stand right there beside him and fucking _kill them all_."

He says nothing – doesn't even _try_ to say anything this time – just quietly watches her with slightly raised eyebrows.

She's not done. "And something _else_ ," she spits out, bitter venom coloring her words, " _I'm_ not oblivious either. I know how much Finch means to _you_. We all put our asses on the line to save him today, and even if it was for absolutely nothing, I still know damn good and well that you prefer _this_ outcome as opposed to _him_ being the one to catch a bullet."

This time, the pain on his face is obvious. "That's not true, Shaw."

"Isn't it?" she challenges.

" _No_." There's a growing fury in his eyes, mixed with something that she finally recognizes as grief. "Damn it, Sameen – _yes_ , I care about Harold. But I also care about _you_ , and I care about Lionel, and..." His voice catches, breaks. "And I cared about _Root_." A single tear spills over and trickles down his cheek. " _And_ Elias. Just like I cared about _Joss_."

That makes her pause, because she remembers how Reese reacted after Detective Carter was gunned down. John had loved her, just like she had loved Root.

The words of sympathy he was prepared to offer may mean nothing to her, but she knows that _he_ knows. She knows that they aren't empty words at all.

Several more tears fall as he turns away from her. "Years ago, I looked at all the horrible things I had done, and decided I didn't deserve to live anymore. Harold found me and gave me a purpose. But it wasn't a reason to _live_ ; it was a way for me to try to do something meaningful with my life before my sins caught up to me. If I died working the Numbers... well, it couldn't make up for all of it, but I figured maybe I could make amends for some of it. At the very least, I'd be leaving behind _some_ trace of good in this world."

He turns to her again, his eyes red-rimmed. "But it never happened. I don't know how the hell I keep cheating death, but when I see other people – _good_ people – dying instead of me..." He closes his eyes, taking a shuddering breath. "If I had _my_ preference of outcome, I'd have been there instead. _I'd_ have taken those bullets. Then Harold _and_ Root would still be here, safe and alive." He opens his eyes again and looks at her firmly, his focus emphasizing his words. "You would all still be alive... and you would still have Root."

She stares at him for what feels like hours. The vague _something_ she felt in her stomach earlier doesn't seem quite so vague anymore; not only is it gnawing more urgently at her gut, but now it's also creeping into her chest, and up into her throat, making it harder for her to breathe.

"I killed you," she whispers.

Reese's brow furrows. "What?"

"In the simulations," she clarifies. "When Samaritan was holding me captive. I killed you, again and again. I killed Finch, too. But I could never kill Root. I always shot myself instead." She shakes her head slowly. For some reason, her eyes are starting to sting. "You wouldn't have done that, if Samaritan had taken you instead. I killed you and Finch both, thousands of times, but you never would have killed any of us."

He's quiet for a moment. "You don't know that."

"Yes, I do," she insists.

In her mind's eye, she replays the simulations. She sees herself raise her gun and pull the trigger on Reese, watching him fall to the ground in a spray of blood. She sees herself do the same to Finch, dispassionately observing the look of shock and betrayal on his face as he crumples to the floor. She sees herself facing Root, feels herself put the gun to her own head, feels the searing pain as the bullet tears through her brain, and hears Root screaming in horror and grief as she falls into her arms and lets the world fade away into a slowly-spinning kaleidoscope.

Reese would never have killed them. He'd have ended his own life every single time the first chance he got rather than murder any of his friends.

She knows that they were simulations, they weren't real and they meant nothing, but she feels ashamed for her actions anyway, because Reese – for all his talk of being a bad person and his life not being worthy – is a far better person than she was. They _all_ were.

"Root didn't deserve me," she whispers as the tears finally spill over.

This time, when Reese takes her hand, she doesn't pull away from him. Instead, she wraps her fingers around his, her body shaking as she _finally_ feels the grief and the loss. She doesn't try to stop crying; she embraces it because this is how Root would have mourned _her_ , and so this is how _she_ should mourn Root.

It's a strange sensation, having these emotions turned up to where she can actually _feel_ them, acutely and unmistakably. And somehow, it only seems fitting that it took losing Root to bring them to the surface.

"Yes, she did deserve you," Reese finally says. "And you deserved her, too. You both made each other better people."

She shakes her head, almost to the point of hysterical laughter. She leans back and stares at the roof of the car through teary eyes. "So if I lost the person who made me better, what do I become now?" she asks.

Reese sighs. "I wish I could answer that for you."

She swipes at her eyes and looks down at the gathered tears on her hand, marveling for a moment at the moisture she feels both on her fingers and on her cheek. It's an alien sensation, both terrible and amazing at the same time.

She's starting to feel a sense of despair as a deeper understanding slowly dawns on her. "We have to find Harold," she says quietly.

Reese turns to study her for a moment before speaking. "Shaw, if you want to sit this one out..."

"We can't. _I_ can't." Almost of their own accord, she feels the volume being turned down again on her emotions. She feels the loss of them – this is wrong, Root deserves so many more tears than that – but she can't let herself focus on that anymore. She needs to be Shaw the Operative now. "Look, if Finch is about to try to take down Samaritan on his own, he's gonna get himself killed. And if he does, then Root..." She feels her chest tighten, just momentarily, then release again. "... then her death meant nothing," she finishes. "We have to help him. We have to take down Samaritan _together_."

She brings herself to look at Reese again; he offers a sad smile of empathy.

"Before we split up," she says, "while we were rescuing Finch from the Samaritan ops, Root started talking about... how life was like a simulation, and we were all echoes of some greater purpose, we're some sort of 'shapes' in the universe..." She pauses, testing her memory. "Honestly, when she made a comment at the end about how I had a 'fine shape' I just brushed it off as a long-winded introduction to a poorly-timed come-on; she always flirts – _flirted_ – at the worst possible times. I wish..." Her throat starts to close, and she almost – _almost_ – cries again. "I wish I remembered more of what she said. But the point is... Root believed in some higher purpose, that our lives meant something and that traces of ourselves lived on forever. I don't know that _I_ believe that, but... Root _did_ , so it doesn't matter what I think. Real or not... either way, we have to _make_ it true, for her."

Reese nods, and she sees her determination mirrored in his face.

She takes a deep breath. "Let's go find Finch, and let's go take down Samaritan once and for all. For Root."

"For _everyone_ ," Reese amends, and she can't argue with that.

He starts the engine once more and pulls out onto the road. As they drive, she looks out and watches the scenery pass them by. She wishes for a moment that the raw emotion she felt had stuck around longer, but she quickly lets the thought go. She had her moment, but now she needs to focus on doing her part to win this war. She thinks perhaps _that_ is truly the best way to memorialize Root's life.

They pass a traffic camera, and she sees it blink as they go by. For a fleeting moment, she allows herself to believe that it's Root up there, watching over them all.


End file.
